


Looking for the Court of Miracles

by wolfiefics



Series: Court of Miracles [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark fic, Elseworlds, Eventual Happy Ending, Kidnapping, Rape, Torture, containment camps, not everybody from Eastern Europe is horrible, some people hate other people just because of their heritage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 19:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: Dick is kidnapped and taken to an internment camp in Europe merely for the crime of being a gypsy. There he is tortured and defiant while his American friends and family search the world for him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A DARK FIC. Not as dark as I could have made it with my writing ability now, but it was hard to write fifteen years ago. Gypsies are still marginalized all over the world, third class citizens even in "enlightened" countries. It, before Devin Grayson made it canon, has been taken for granted that Dick had some gypsy/Rom background due to being a circus boy for years now and I capitalized on that for this story. It is set right after Cataclysm and No Man's Land and right when Dick first moved to Bludhaven. His relationship with Bruce has just been mended after several years of strain.

The truck came through the gates as the small crowd of on-lookers pressed against the fences and the United Nations troops for a better look at the camp’s occupants. An even smaller group of friends, so close knit that they were actually family, stood further from the crowd, waiting impatiently for the events they orchestrated to unfold. 

One man stood even further apart, solitary but more than enough company for himself. He too had a hand in the events in progress. He fought long and hard for it, worried himself to a frazzle, bloodied his knuckles on more than one scumbag terrorist to get the information he so desperately needed. Bruce Wayne was triumphant but tired. The wait and the fight had been so long, so exhausting and yet it barely begun. His son, yes he admitted it, his son was coming home after almost a year of living in hell. All Bruce wanted was to hug the younger man and thank God for the few miracles He granted them. 

"Okay, everyone move back!" shouted a British sergeant in an authoritative tone. He gave a broad smile to the crowd. "They're coming out."

A cheer roared from the small crowd, but immediately died down when ten trucks came screeching through the gates of the compound/camp. Before the drivers even stopped, refugees and prisoners were scrambling out, having seen the American and British troops and their family members. One woman was sobbing uncontrollably as she collapsed in the arms of a British soldier. "Thank God, ye came for us!" she sobbed in a Cockney accent. The soldier looked shaken to his soul. That a woman from his own nation, from the heart of his capital city, had been kidnapped and treated in such a horrendous fashion was almost more than he could fathom. 

Bruce turned his eyes from the woman's bruised and emaciated face and searched the prisoners still clambering out of the trucks. Donna Troy walked over, tears gathering in her eyes. She clutched Bruce's arm in a claw-like grip. "I don't see him, Bruce, I don't see him!" she wailed. 

He absently patted her hand, still searching faces for a sign of Richard Grayson. "Let's go," he rumbled. He began to walk to the nearest truck, intending to look in each one until he found his son. 

Donna Troy watched the older man stride away and then scurried over to her friends. Wally West, Roy Harper and Garth had been standing together when Donna went over to Bruce. "He wants us to check the trucks," she told Roy. 

The red-haired archer also looked like hell, cheeks hollowed in from lack of sleep and whatever else he had done to get the information that led them down the path of 'holocaust' camps. Roy's government contacts had been invaluable, and Roy himself found the camp Dick was in. Roy wasn't looking forward to seeing Dick as he had seen him before. He hadn't been able to tell anyone all he saw, knowing nothing could prepare them. He hugged Donna tightly. "Well, let's get going." He started walking to the truck next to the one Bruce Wayne was heading toward. 

Donna looked at the people pouring from the trucks and felt her heart wrench. Then steeling herself, she was an Amazon after all, Donna followed Roy. 

Wally West took a deep breath as Donna informed them of Bruce's "plan". Wally was pretty sure he didn't want to search the trucks, was pretty sure he didn't want to see Dick like the rest of these people. Perhaps Dick was worse off, being a fighter and protector by nature? How did they know that Dick Grayson hadn't been one of the last casualties of the camp, so similar to the World War II camps Wally remembered seeing pictures of in college? Berating himself, Wally too began to walk forward, slowly, and sluggishly; he was sure he didn't want to know the answers to those questions bouncing around his brain. 

Garth remained where he was. It wasn't fear, or shame. He just couldn't believe his eyes. He volunteered his abilities to help the medics clean people off and help disinfect. His ability to boil or cool water particles would be invaluable time-savers. Time was of essence, the medics assured him. Who knew what parasites were on the victims? Cleaning them would be a top priority and followed by full medical checks. Shutting his eyes to the horrible skeletal people weakly mingling with UN troops and family members, Garth turned to the medical trucks set up a short distance away. He had work to do; people needed him. Dick would approve. 

It was Wally who found him. At least Wally thought it was Dick. The small figure was so bloody, bruised and emaciated the speedster wasn't all that sure. "Bruce! Donna! Roy! Garth!" he shouted. He helped the few people left in the truck out and scrambled inside to the back. The truck bed's enclosure smelled so badly that it was all Wally could do to keep the contents of his stomach down. 

Dick leaned up against the back of the truck, by the cab, eyes closed, his breathing shallow. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks were caved from lack of food. His lips were cracked and bleeding from dehydration. His eyes fluttered open slightly when Wally sat next to him. The dry, raspy voice was nothing like Wally remembered, so husky normally, authoritative. "Wally? You guys...found...us?" Dick pitched forward and Wally caught him. Wally supported his friend as they began to climb out. 

Tears stabbed the back of Wally's eyes. There wasn't an ounce of fat on Dick's body. It was all bone, a little sinew and very little muscle. Wally felt like he was carrying a feather, so lightweight was the former Titan leader. Roy and Donna screeched to a halt in front of the opening and Roy caught Dick as he fell forward and into the sunlight. The face contracted into a grimace at the bright light and eyelids fluttered open again just enough for Donna to see the normally sparkling, mischievous blue eyes dull and lifeless.  
Bruce heard Wally’s shout, finished helping a woman and child from the truck, and made a mad dash for where Roy and Donna were now supporting Dick. When Dick's eyes opened so slightly, what Bruce saw pushed everything else from his mind. 

_Defeat._ Dick had given up.

Bruce backed away a yard, turned from what he saw and began to walk, his mind going numb. He vaguely heard Donna calling to him but couldn't turn back. It was more than Bruce Wayne could bear. Almost a year of hell had culminated into this.... this _travesty_ of a moment. The one person Bruce thought would never give up, would have known help was on the way, somehow, that person folded his cards and gave up.

Donna, Roy and Wally looked at each other when Bruce began to walk away. Dick's whispered, "Where's Bruce?" made Donna call out to the older man. Bruce kept walking. Like a chant, Dick continued to ask, "Where's Bruce? Where's Bruce?" as if his sanity depended on Bruce being there.

Wally made sure Roy had Dick firm and took off after the older man. "He's asking for you, Bruce." Bruce looked at Wally with angry eyes. "Can't you put aside whatever you're feeling for a time?" Wally pleaded. "He's begging for you. Please." Bruce closed his eyes and nodded. Wally zipped them back so fast Bruce didn't have time to worry about adjusting to the speed.

Before anyone could blink, Bruce was on the ground, cradling Dick, who was wheezing over and over, "You came, you came, I hoped you would, you came, you came, I hoped you would."

It was just the beginning.


	2. Chapter One

One Year Ago 

Blüdhaven actually seemed quiet for once. Dick Grayson ran a hand through wavy black hair and smiled contentedly. Things were going well, finally. He worked part-time at Hogan's for information, the apartment building had been finished and it looked great, and though the Gotham City area was still a little on the rough side because of the quake, it was looking better. It wasn't a rosy world, but Dick figured it was as close as he was ever going to get. 

In a couple of weeks he, Wally and Roy would be going on a long hiking vacation in the Appalachians. Roy had cabin fever badly and was desperate for some outdoor exercise. Being raised near the mountains as a boy, Roy missed the free feeling one got in nature. Dick and Wally teased him that it was Roy's Navajo upbringing making him "one with nature." Roy scoffed, informing them that just because he was coming to terms with his time with the Diné, as the Navajo called themselves, did not mean he was "one with nature." They laughed and made their plans. Donna wrinkled her pert nose at the suggestion, opting to pick on them when they came back. Garth wanted to go but was busy with.... whatever it was he did under the ocean. Dick still wasn't sure what that was. 

The night was breezy but warm and he slung his jacket over his shoulder. Hogan's had been busy that night, all the regulars exclaiming about the Nightwing guy who saved a cop's life over on the junction of Miller Road and Tyler Street the night before. Dick absently rubbed his shoulder where he pulled a muscle swinging down to grab the beat cop during the firefight. That cop sat two stools down from Dick's position, singing Nightwing's praises. It made Dick feel good. All in all, it was good to be alive, was Dick's estimation. 

Humming a song his father taught him when he was a child, Dick gazed up at the stars with a silly smile on his face. "Hey, buddy!" called a voice behind him.

Dick tensed and turned. "Yeah?" 

"What's that song you're humming? It's...familiar." The man looked about 50 or 55 years of age, dressed as if he was a street bum. Dick relaxed a little. 

"Oh, just some Gypsy tune my dad taught me," Dick replied, still on guard but not so much as before. "It just came to me." 

"I thought it was Gypsy," nodded the man and Dick's world went black. He never saw it coming.

* * *

* * *

Bruce Wayne never knew there was a problem until Barbara Gordon asked him if he heard from Dick lately. Dressed in his Batman regalia with the cowl pulled back, Bruce looked surprised at the question. "Not lately," he had replied. "Why?" 

"Well, I usually get a call twice a week and I haven't heard a peep in two weeks." Barbara looked worried over the video speaker.  
Bruce went back to skimming the papers in his hands. "Maybe he's on a case?" he replied absently. 

"That's usually when I hear from him once a night," answered Barbara. "I can't get anyone to answer the phone and his answering machine is full." 

Bruce's head bounced up like a rubber ball at that bit of information and he frowned. "That is odd," he conceded. "We've just gotten things worked out though. I don't want to intrude. Blüdhaven's his now. I don't want him to think I'm checking up on him just because he hasn't called." 

"Have Alfred do it," suggested Barbara. "That would surprise no one." 

"Have me do what, Miss Barbara?" asked Alfred, setting down a tray full of finger sandwiches, which Bruce made a boyish look of distaste at. Barbara grinned at the unconscious display Bruce gave. 

"Dick hasn't checked in with Barbara and she's worried," muttered Bruce, still eyeing the sandwiches warily. 

"They are not for you, sir," Alfred snapped peevishly. "They are for Master Timothy when he arrives. He," Alfred informed his surrogate son, "likes my finger sandwiches." Bruce gave Alfred a charming, vacant Bruce Wayne grin, which failed to charm the crusty Batbutler. "I shall give Master Dick a call." 

"Been there, done that, old bean," Barbara intoned. "Someone humor me and go physically check on him. It's not like I can really do it." 

Bruce sighed, as did Alfred. "I'll check on it tonight, okay?" Bruce tried to sound harassed but Barbara's worry was contagious. 

"Thank you, Master," declared Barbara in her worst Igor impression. 

"Hey! Batman doesn't allow fun down here!" rebuked Timothy Drake, the current Robin, as he came through the upstairs entrance. 

"Quiet, brat," grinned Barbara. "Do me a favor, huh? Make sure Grim and Gritty here checks up on the man formerly known as Robin, okay?"

Tim looked puzzled but nodded. "Sure." Barbara's image blipped off the screen and Tim rounded on Alfred. "Since when does Dick need checking up on?" 

"Since Miss Barbara has decided to become the mothering type," Alfred deadpanned. Bruce shot his surrogate father a dirty look. 

"He hasn't called here lately that I know of, and if he usually talks to Barbara often and hasn't, that is suspicious behavior," Bruce conceded reluctantly. "Tim, stay here and go over these files on this new serial rapist and I'll be back after I 'check on Dick'." Pulling the cowl down over his face, Bruce slipped into the Batmobile and raced away. 

"Well, here's another family squabble I get to mediate," sighed Alfred jokingly. 

"Are those your finger sandwiches, Alfie?" asked Tim, reaching for the plate. Alfred merely smiled triumphantly. Someone in this cave appreciated fine snack cuisine.

* * *

The phone was ringing when Batman snuck into his old partner's apartment. The answering machine was blinking crazily, indicating it was full of messages and refused to take any more. Still, it kicked in to where Batman could hear the caller, who just happened to be an irate Roy Harper. 

"Grayson, where the hell are you, man? You better be on your way down here or I'm going to kick your ass!" There was brief murmur behind the scenes. "Wally's gonna help. Pick up the phone, Dick! Come on! We're gonna miss the start of the hike!"  
Batman grabbed the receiver. "Roy," he began but he stopped at the dead silence that greeted him on the other end. 

"Ba...uh...Bruce?" Roy corrected himself quickly. "Where's Dick? We're supposed to go for a two week hike and he ain't here!" Roy still sounded irate but the fact that Batman was answering Dick's phone immediately made Roy’s initial anger dissipate. 

"He hasn't been in touch with us for a couple of weeks so I decided to see what was going on. He's not here." Batman added that last bit, even though it was rather obvious that Dick wasn't there. 

"Oh." Roy couldn't think of anything to say and handed Wally the phone. 

"Hey, Bruce!" chirped Wally. "Can we kill your ex-ward? We're late." 

"Only if you can find him," growled Batman. Wally West was extremely intelligent but he could be idiotic sometimes, in Batman's honest opinion. 

"I haven't heard from him since we finalized our plans. I figured that he'd meet us here." Wally almost didn't sound too worried. 

"Where's here?" asked Batman, thumbing through some notes on Dick's desk. Nothing pointing to a case on his desk. Batman gave half an ear to Wally's rambling about their meeting place and trip. The computer was off and had a slight coating of dust. Hadn't been used in a while, then. "When exactly did you last talk to him and was he working on a case?" 

"How 'bout if Roy and I just meet you at his apartment?" More chattering off-phone. "Be there in a jiff." 

Batman hung up the phone and was digging through Dick's closet when Roy and Wally opened the apartment door. "I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks now," drifted an Irish accent to Batman's ears. With a silent curse at the two younger vigilantes, Batman crammed himself in the closet and closed the door quickly and quietly. "I figgered he went to visit his father or brother or whatever he is to Dick." 

"Father?" asked Wally puzzledly. 

"Brother?" echoed Roy with a furrowed brow. 

"Yes, Bruce is his name," elaborated Clancy, the apartment's super and Dick's beautiful downstairs neighbor. Her Oriental features clashed with the broad Irish brogue, but also added to her appeal. 

"Oh, well, we'll look around. Good thing he gave me a key for whenever I'm in town," smiled Roy. Normally he would have flirted madly with the lovely lady, but things were looking serious. 

"Is he behind on rent or anything?" asked Wally. 

"No, but his mail is pilin' up," answered Clancy. She waved them good-bye and walked back down the steps. 

"I wonder how Dick keeps his hands off her?" wondered Roy. "He's got that thing for Irish brogues." 

"You like corporate clothes, he likes brogues. You guys are sick!" joked Wally, trying to cover the worry. "This is all so unDick-like. Anyone talked to Donna?" 

"I'm calling her after I leave here. Dick may have been in contact with her. Search this room thoroughly. Leave nothing unread, even if it's his diary!" snapped Batman, coming out the closet with an old Nightwing costume hooked on one of the cowl's ears. 

Roy and Wally looked at each other and went to opposite sides of the room to begin searching. Batman swung himself from the window after removing the old costume from his cowl and making sure the coast was clear. There was something wrong about the situation that Batman just couldn't put his finger on.

* * *

"Have I heard from Dick?" echoed Donna Troy, moving photographs from the chemical solution tray to the wire she hung them on to dry. "Not recently, why?" 

"He hasn't been in contact with anyone, it seems," explained Bruce angrily. Donna recognized that he wasn't angry with her but at everything in general. Bruce Wayne hated not being in the know. 

"Could he be working on a case?" she asked, hanging the last photograph up. 

"No notes and his computer hasn't been touched in a while. There was dust on the keyboard. Oracle stated she hadn't talk to him in a couple of weeks, an unusual occurrence she said. His boss at Hogan's said Dick hasn't been in or called in since he left for the night two weeks ago. His landlady hasn't seen him either. No sign of him on the streets, no recent reports of Nightwing since he saved a beat cop in a gang fight. I thought maybe you had seen or heard from him lately." Donna was impressed. That was the longest bit of dialogue she ever heard from Bruce Wayne, or Batman for that matter. 

"He could be hiking with Roy and Wally. I know they were supposed to go," Donna told him. She wasn't worried, not really. She learned long ago that Dick could take care of himself. 

"They're searching his apartment right now for clues. He never showed up for their hike." That got Donna's attention.

"That's not at all like Dick," murmured Donna to herself. "What should we do?" 

Bruce paused a moment and then sighed. "I don't like this at all. There's something wrong that we’re missing somewhere. Get hold of any other Titans members or friends of Dick's that you know of. See if they've heard anything. Let me know your results." The line buzzed in her ear, signaling the end of the conversation. 

Donna sat down in the chair in her darkroom. Dick hadn't contacted anyone for two weeks, hadn't shown up for a planned vacation that he'd been looking forward to, and hadn't shown up to a job or left notes for a case. Donna began to shake as the thought the others were trying to disprove settled into her mind. 

Dick was missing.


	3. Chapter Two

Blüdhaven was in an uproar. Batman sightings flooded the underground and the police force alike at an alarming rate. Encounters with the Flash, a red hooded archer calling himself Arsenal, and the water manipulating Atlantean named Tempest were reported as well. Chief Red Horn of the Blüdhaven PD received a personal visit from Superman himself. The questions they posed were all the same: where's the vigilante Nightwing? 

So intense was the shakedown, that the few criminals who thought to use Nightwing's disappearance as an advantageous one-up on the superheroes quickly discovered that if they tried such a trick, bad things happened to their operations. Two low-ranking mob kings found themselves with heavy prison time. 

Blüdhaven was paying a heavy price for her silence.

When Batman was satisfied that Gotham City's sister city could reveal nothing, he branched into Gotham herself. The shakedown continued, but brought no new results. 

The first decent lead came from Arsenal. While visiting his daughter, Lian, and his best friends, the Santoses, Martin Santose mentioned something that grabbed Roy's attention.   
"Rumor mill reported about some Neo-Nazi hate group starting up in East Europe again." Martin was passing the potatoes when he made this announcement. "They seem to be targeting minority ethnic groups like off-shoot religious groups. They also have this thing for Gypsies." He shook his head and brushed a brownish-lock out of his son's face. 

"Yeah, Gypsies get a lot of flack everywhere," murmured Roy, wiping his daughter's hands off where she spilled her milk. 

"I'm afraid these wackos are going to start transcending borders and head to other nations. Like America needs more bigots," Martin continued sarcastically. 

"Not at the dinner table, dear," Erika Santose growled at him through clenched teeth.   
Roy only grinned but the wheels were already turning. Wasn't Dick's dad a Gypsy? It was flimsy, but it could be Dick was on a case after all. Maybe a circus friend disappeared. As far as Roy knew, no one checked the Haly's Circus angle. 

Later that night, when everyone else went to bed, Roy called Wayne Manor. 

"Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking," droned Alfred. 

"Hey, Alfred. This is Roy Harper," Roy greeted. 

"Master Roy, how delightful to hear from you. Any news on the missing chick from our collective nest?" Alfred covered his fear and worry with his usual metaphoric bravado. 

"No, but has Bruce checked the circus for info? I just thought of it myself." 

"Yes, Master Bruce checked into the circus when of all of you were out frightening Blüdhaven. They have not heard or seen anything of Master Dick in over two months, according to Mr. Haly. Why?" Alfred suspected Roy might have thought he had a lead. 

"It's weak but an old CBI friend of mine mentioned that some new prejudiced freak jobs are making mincemeat out of minorities in the Eastern block. Could Dick have been checking out something like that?" 

Alfred pondered this a moment and then replied, "I honestly do not know, Master Roy, but I'm sure Master Bruce will be happy for the information." 

"Well, let me know if he comes up with anything," Roy told the butler/manservant, "because if we have to, I can dig up a lot more info." 

"I shall do that, sir." Alfred tried to sound uplifting but he wasn't all that sure on the lead. "Good evening." 

"Bye." Roy hung the phone up and leaned back into the pillows. For some reason that little bit of information that Martin imparted stuck in his head. Picking the phone up again, Roy took a deep breath. He dialed and waited for an answer. When he got it, Roy said, "Get me Sgt. Steel. And I mean pronto. Code Uniform Papa Yankee Oscar Uniform Romeo Sierra one niner one six." 

Batman dismissed the information out of hand for the first three months following Roy's report of the rumors. Why, he reasoned, would an Eastern European government travel all the way to America to look for Roma when there were still plenty closer to home in Europe itself? No one could answer the question and so other leads were checked out and discarded, one by one. Arsenal stubbornly stuck to the theory and made his own inquiries. 

Batman came to regret that decision some six months later.


	4. Chapter Three

Shortly after his capture, Dick awoke to screaming and crying, wailing and keening, so loud it drowned out his thinking. He winced as he sat up and was kicked down again by a crisp black boot. Sharp words in a language Dick didn't understand followed the abuse but Dick sat up again anyway. A poke with an electric cattle prod pushed him down again. When the pain subsided many minutes later enough that he could comprehend what was going on, Dick actually took note of his surroundings without moving. 

It was appalling. Dirt floors were covered with dead flies and other bugs and the smell was ripe with human waste. The smell was so overpowering that Dick rolled over and wretched. Laughter echoed through his cell as he did so. He squinted at the other occupants. The only word he caught was "American". It didn't bode well, either, from the tone. 

"Where am I?" he managed out, voice raw and hoarse. He jerked back as the cattle prod shot him some more electrical shock. 

"No talk, American," spat one of the guards in broken, almost incomprehensible English. 

"But..." Dick began again and this time the shock from the cattle prod and his weakened state caused him to pass out. He didn't wake up for another six hours. 

When he did come to the second time around there was a girl in his cell, serving some horrendous gruel in the corner. She set the bowl down, eyes cast to the floor and walked back out. The door slammed shut. "Eat!" barked the guard. Dick caught of brief glimpse of the toothy grin before the guard turned away to walk down the hallway to probably prod someone else. The scream that followed confirmed Dick's suspicion. 

Dick crawled over to the bowl and made a face at the unsubstantial gruel. That it could be called gruel was an understatement. About half a teaspoon of flour mixed with even less water was what it amounted to. Dick had this bad feeling that where ever he had wound up at, this was all the food he was getting. Figuring he needed all he could get, he swallowed the unpalatable meal in one gulp. 

And promptly threw it back up. 

"The drug they give to keep you knocked out on the trip makes eating difficult, but I'd learn to eat it if I were you." Dick's head raised at the male voice. It was distinctly British, sounded like London’s East End. "It's all they serve here. I'd be of a mind to complain about the service, but I get enough electroshock therapy as it is." 

"Who are you and where the hell am I?" Dick crawled to the corner of his cell near the bars where the voice seemed to come from. 

"Hell would definitely fit this place, but I've heard the Devil throws better parties," answered the voice mockingly. "My name is Greg Moorehead. I'm a Gypsy, as I suppose you are as well?" 

"My dad was Rom, yeah, but my mom wasn't. What's this all about?" Dick huffed as he sat down. He still felt queasy. 

"Welcome to your new home. More than likely you’re going to die here. If you look out your complimentary window view you'll see your grave. If you're lucky, you'll be dead before they throw you in." The voice seemed gratingly cheerful. "Been here about 2 months, I'd say. They captured me in England. From your accent, I'd say you are an American, eh? Welcome to hell, Yank." 

"Thanks, but I still don't understand." 

"They hate us, Yank. Anybody who ain't them, they kill. They ain't particular where they get their victims either. Near as I can tell, those of us who were immigrated in where ones they found on 'business' trips. Y'know, for guns, ammo and whatever else our respective countries' black markets can get for them. More than likely they stumbled on to you and me and decided that we'd be fun to have around." Greg paused. "You speak Rom, then?" 

Dick frowned. He was not in America? "Very little. My parents were killed when I was a kid. Been raised by _gaje_ all my life. Last thing I remember was whistling a tune my dad taught me as I walked home from work, then I wake up here. Where is here, for real?" 

Greg began to whistle loudly a tune Dick didn’t recognize. Guards voices from another room began to shout and the door swung open. "You're in a small Eastern European country. Don't know the name. You're the first English speaker I've talked to at all." The guards walked passed Dick's cell, the main guard poking Dick in the back with the electrical prod almost casually. The cell next door was opened and Dick heard a grunt and a muffled scream.   
Dick began to hate his guards at that moment. 

The month passed and Dick could tell that it was already taking its toll. Just to maintain some sense of control, he began provoking his guards in much the same way as Greg had that first day. As a matter of fact, he and Greg took great delight in egging the guards on. The two became companions, if you could consider what they did a basis for a relationship. The torture wasn't anything he couldn't handle with Batman's training since Dick's childhood. He taught Greg his tricks on controlling his body and mind during the torture sessions and the two managed to get back at their guards quite well for a couple of months. 

Until Greg outlived his usefulness. 

It was 3 o'clock in the morning and the dew was frozen on the ground when Dick and Greg faced each other in the prison yard. Dick had been there three months already and Greg cheerfully celebrated his 5 month anniversary with a session of torture Dick wasn't invited to and had the Englishman quiet for two days. Greg fell to the ground first and looked up at Dick with an almost bored expression. Dick quickly followed the Brit into the standard kneeling position. 

An officer Dick had never seen before stepped between them and backhanded each of them. "You are loud, you are disruptive and one of you must pay." The tone brooked no argument and neither of the prisoners could think of one. 

Looking from one malnourished prisoner to the other, the officer backhanded Dick again and pointed to Greg. "Make him die slowly and make him," the officer pointed to Dick, "watch. Perhaps it will teach him to be quiet and follow rules." 

Greg paled and then closed his eyes as the session began. After two hours of cattle prods with varying degrees of electrical currents, whips, beatings on his feet until they bled and then walking around the compound hundreds of times, the Englishman collapsed into unconsciousness for the last time. A bullet to the head ended the session and Greg's life. Dick was beaten so many times from trying to help his friend that he too collapsed into unconsciousness. He only knew that when he awoke, Greg never answered his calls from next door.


	5. Chapter Four

Washington, D.C. 

The yelling match got the whole office’s attention. Roy and Sgt. Steel had been closeted up in the Steel’s office for two hours going over every little piece of information Checkmate and the CIA accumulated on the Eastern European political and military scene. What they discovered confirmed Roy’s lead and made Steel nervous as hell. 

"You are not going over there, Harper!" Steel shouted, standing up as Roy headed for the door. 

Roy turned, his lips curled into a sneer, his green eyes blazing. "You think I’m going to let a lead like that just sit there? I’m going." Roy turned back to the door and Steel grabbed his arm, jerking him back around. 

"You do, and I can’t be responsible for anything that happens to you over there. I can’t send in a team to save your butt and I can’t help you get your friend out if he’s there." Steel ran a hand through his graying hair and flexed the cyborg hand on his other arm. "Look, Harper, let the politicians take care of this. Let it be done by the book. All we need is another war started over there." 

"He’s not your friend. He hasn’t saved your butt so many times you can’t count," Roy ground out, knowing Steel made valid points but unwilling to admit it. "I have to and I will go over there." 

Steel sighed heavily and walked back to his desk, leaning against the front of it. "I’ve had friends who were POWs and a few that are still missing from ‘Nam, kid, don’t tell me about friends like him. I got more than my share." Steel waved a hand at Roy. "Go, find him and bring him home safely if you can. But think on this, is his life worth those that will be casualties should you inadvertently start a war? And will a lifetime of imprisonment be worth it?" 

Roy felt a flash of shame but couldn’t honestly answer any other way. "Yes. He’s worth it. Because he’s saved more." Roy opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.

* * *

Yevestya was once a small country annexed into Russia during World War I and was still reeling from the aftermath of the Soviet Union’s fall. They were much like Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia: a hot bed of discontent and a hodgepodge of ethnicities that hated each other with jihad-type fervor. The Roma were a large part of the population in the country for hundreds of year, but as everywhere else in Europe, they were considered the bane of civilized living. So, taking cue from the Nazis, the Yevestyans decided to rid themselves of the Gypsy folk in their country, rounding them up into concentration-style camps. A few other ethnic groups were thrown in to make things even, but the Rom by far outnumbered the rest combined. 

It made Roy sick, thinking about what was happening in those camps. Oliver Queen made sure that Roy’s world had not become rose-colored after his adoption off the reservation. Ollie’s concerns that things like the Holocaust camps could happen again were ingrained, and the Emerald Archer would not have stood by if they happened again. Roy wasn’t going to stand by passively either. 

His truck tooled along the interstate, heading for Gotham City. Bruce would want to know that Roy’s lead possibly panned out. A thought occurred to Roy and he took the first exit to New York City instead. 

Donna’s apartment was dark and quiet, but Roy knew better. She wasn’t sleeping any better than the rest of them. A soft knock and she jerked the door open. "Any news?" she asked worriedly. Her blue eyes were dark with worry. 

"Maybe. My lead may pan out after all, but I’m going to go over there and find out for sure. Either way, those damn camps are going to get a reality check from me whether Dick’s there or not." Roy fell onto the couch and leaned his head back with a weary sigh. "I haven’t seen my daughter in a month and sleep is impossible. I can’t help thinking..." He couldn’t finish and Donna patted his arm as she sat beside him. 

She rested her head on his shoulder and spoke reassuringly. "Even if Dick is there, he’s tough. He’ll hang on until we can get there."   
Roy looked down at her and shrugged. "Maybe," was all he would say. He fell asleep and Donna covered him with a blanket and tried to get some sleep herself. Lying on her soft mattress with a warm quilt up to her chin, she wondered how Dick was faring, as she did every night.

* * *

Dick wasn’t faring well at all. 

The guards started a new game a week after Greg’s death, one that most of their victims couldn’t find a way out of. Dick couldn’t find any way out of it either, no matter how hard he tried. But it was becoming pointless anyway, he told himself, as the male prisoners were lined up in the yard. 

A boy Tim Drake’s age stood beside him. Near as Dick could tell, the kid was new, but as it turned out, it didn’t matter. One small bit of defiance earned the boy a bullet in his temple and his body tossed into the slowly filling mass grave at the far end of the compound. Dick knew that’s where the body went because he was assigned grave detail. He just wished that he knew what the guards were up to as the men were marched across the yard. 

The new game, though, was an entirely different matter. Dick found someone was chosen on as little as what mood the guards were in. As Dick was still trying to live up to Greg’s ambitions of irritating the guards, he usually found his way in the "volunteer group". The first day the men were taken from their cells and marched to the women’s side of the compound. They were shoved inside a private cell with a woman alone and told to rape her. Dick refused. The girl was tortured in front of him until she died, her eyes staring at him accusingly the whole time. 

He was taken back to his own cell and tortured there until he sank into blessed unconscious. Thus it would go. Finally, a woman was brought to his cell, along with three small children of various ages and genders. They were to watch the proceedings, no matter which way it went. The woman, speaking hesitant English, cajoled him into coupling with her. 

He could only get so far. 

Laughing, the guard who was playing voyeur shot the smallest child present, a little girl with sad blue eyes. Eyes that reminded Dick of Donna when they were younger. Enraged Dick went for the guard’s throat, but a rifle butt to the solar plexus halted Dick’s weak assault, no matter how well-intentioned. The woman comforted him as long as the guard allowed her and then she was taken away. 

She returned the next afternoon under the supervision of the same guard. "My name is Lisette Dajou," she told him, holding his head in her hands. "If we don’t give them what they want now, we will not live to fight back later." She kissed him softly, teasing him, but it was obvious neither wanted it. 

But they took the comfort where they could find it. And the guard enjoyed every minute of it. 

A week of this voyeurism turned into two before Dick couldn’t take anymore. He pushed Lisette away, stating firmly, "No. Take her away, back to her cell. I’m not playing gigolo for your sick appetites any longer." 

Lisette was lead away meekly enough and Dick worried about her somewhat. Had they taken out their anger of his defiance on her? His answer came in the form of the officer who was responsible for Greg’s last tortured breaths. 

"You refuse to cooperate?" The officer stood just outside the door just out of reach should Dick decide to lunge for him. 

"Why are you doing this?" Dick stood up shakily, defiance evident his movements. "What have these people done to you? Do you realize that when so many foreigners go missing there will be investigations in our disappearances? People must have seen you kidnap me. The same for the others." 

The officer smiled condescendingly at Dick, shaking his head as if listening to a recalcitrant child spout excuses not to get punished. Turning to his guard he said, "This is why they are so uncivilized. They think people care about them and their filthy ways." He looked Dick square in the face and chuckled. "No one has done anything on your behalf yet, Richard Grayson. Yes, I know who you are," he added at Dick’s startled expression. "I make a point to know who all the foreign prisoners are. Your rich guardian has made no attempt to look for you overseas. He no doubt thinks you angered some street gang coming home from somewhere and are now floating at the bottom of a river." 

"No, he won’t give up," ground out Dick, disbelieving. He knew Bruce would be tearing up the world looking for him. Hell, half the Justice League was probably on the case too. He hoped. 

"After almost six months? In another few months you will be considered dead by your country and then you will completely be mine. If you live that long." The officer raised an eyebrow at Dick’s seething expression. "Since you still see fit to defy the authority over you, you will be taken to the more, shall we say, cramped quarters. Your special treatment is over. It will now only be accessed by payment." As he turned away, the officer tossed his parting shot over his shoulder, "If you think the guards are depraved here, you will have quite a bit to say about your new keepers. Take him." 

The two guards assigned to move him pushed their way into the cell and Dick made his move. He held back before, never knowing who would pay the price for his actions, but now it seemed it was his hide and no one else’s. Utilizing all his strength, he roundhouse kicked the first guard back through the cell door and thrust his hand up into the other guard’s throat, effectively crushing the wind pipe enough to black the man out. A mad dash through the doorway slammed him into the guard regaining his footing from the unexpected attack. Dick punched him, which hurt his hand but knocked the man unconscious.. Two down, only the officer to go. 

"Impressive, but pointless." The officer pointed behind Dick. The younger man turned to see five guards standing, waiting for him to make another move. They all had rifles pointed at him. Dick growled low in his throat as they surrounded him. He struggled momentarily when heavy hands clamped down on his upper arms but in the end went as meekly as he could force himself to become, waiting for another chance at escape.

The officer gave a knowing glance at him and smiled briefly, not in admiration but more consideringly. "Enjoy your new home, Mr. Grayson," called the officer in a mocking voice as Dick was dragged away.

Dick and his five bodyguards exited the brick building that was Dick’s former ‘home’, through the blood stained courtyard where a light rain was starting to fall. To a building in the far corner of the complex, one of the guards opened a heavy steel door wide. "In." The guards holding Dick’s arms tossed him in. As the door shut Dick slammed his body against the door in a frustrated effort to get out. 

"Go to hell!" he shouted as loud as he could. 

"Silence!" The rapidly spoken word in a Spanish accent burst out from behind him and Dick whirled around in surprise. He knew immediately what the "cramped quarters" meant. He was sharing his new home with about fifty other people. He scoped in his mind the layout of the compound. This was the mysterious building next to the women’s quarters.

"My God," he breathed in shock. All of the them were in various states of health, but all of it bad. He thought he was sick with a slight cough, but these people ranged from coughing blood to not moving at all. Only a slight turn of the head indicated life in some and the rise and fall of the chest in others. "You need medicine." Dick crouched next to a young boy, no more than four who was coughing blood. 

The woman next to him barked a laugh. "They won’t give us any," she told him with a cynical sneer. "We’re in here to die, not receive medical care." 

He looked around more, trying to make out a blanket somewhere. "No blankets? Nothing?" He had a blanket in his cell, though it was rather flimsy and it gave a tiny bit of shelter against the cold of late autumn. 

"Why do corpses need blankets?" retorted the woman. "We will need more than one, as you can see." She motioned to those in the room. Many looked half frozen as he got closer. "There’s nothing to be done but pay for our defiance. It would have been better if they had just killed us, but they didn’t. And so we suffer. Welcome to the Court of Miracles." She turned back to the boy, who had stopped breathing in the few moments of her speech. "He’s gone. Guard!" 

Dick turned back to the boy, tilted the youth’s head back and began to administer CPR, heedless of whatever illness caused such a child to cough blood. He breathed for the boy, he tried to force the air in and out of the small lungs, but finally the guard who answered the woman’s summons got tired of watching the futile effort and whacked Dick in the head with the butt of his rifle in order to drag the body away. Dick kept the blackness at bay though his ears rang. It was something he’d gotten used to over the months, a rifle butt to the head. He looked at the wall dazedly and read the scrawled words in Spanish in what looked like charcoal. 

_Welcome to the Court of Miracles_

The days passed as Dick tried desperately to help those sicker than he was. The woman, Esperanza, watched him for two days administer what little first aid he could, offer his food to those who needed it more, in his mind. She began to help him on the third day and by the fourth was going hungry as he was. Only occasionally would she take food, to keep her strength up, but Dick refused his food, giving it to the others first. 

A week went by and the guards were in an uproar. Someone had broken into the compound, the prisoners overheard it said. The stranger was looking for one of them and escaped. The guards became more rough and abusive and the ‘defiant ones’, as the cramped building’s occupants were called, received the brunt of the violence. 

The officer again made an appearance to Dick, laughing as Dick fed a spoonful of gruel to an elderly man. "What are you doing, you foolish boy?" 

"Feeding him, what does it look like?" snapped Dick, rising with difficulty to confront his antagonist. He was terribly weak from lack of food, having only a bit of watered down gruel the day before at Esperanza’s insistence.

"You want to help them, do you?" Dick raised an eyebrow expectantly at the pensive tone of the officer. "I have a way that you can give them blankets, medicine, whatever you think they need." 

"What’s that?" Dick was immediately suspicious. 

"Come with me and I’ll show you." 

Esperanza stopped Dick. "No, do not go. It’s a trick." 

"Shut up, Gypsy whore!" The officer slapped her face, sending her spinning into a couple of prone people. 

Dick was grabbed by the ever-present guards and hauled behind the retreating officer. "You have a name, or does smarmy bastard suit?" snarled Dick, struggling. 

"Borevsky is all you need to know, Mr. Grayson. Colonel Borevsky," the officer told him as they entered the compound’s yard. "We had a visitor, as I’m sure you heard. He seemed to be looking for you. He was American and asked my guards for you by name before he punctured them with his arrows." Borevsky turned suddenly. "Is puncture the correct word?" He smirked when Dick struggled to get at him. "He left, but it seems you were right. They do miss you. I have always wondered what fools Americans can be. Now I know. They think Gypsies are human when we all know you are animals, lower than dogs and should be treated as such. I give you special treatment so I deserve a treat myself." Borevsky continued to prattle on about the pressures of his job while Dick was forcibly carted along behind. 

Roy watched from atop the building they pulled Dick from. God, his old friend looked horrible. He was emaciated and struggled weakly, but Dick was still kicking and that was the point, Roy supposed. The most important part was that Dick was still alive. Now to get back, report what he found and get to work rescuing these people. With one final look at Dick before leaving, Roy watched the parade enter the Colonel’s quarters. Roy wondered what was going to happen before he leaped from the roof.


	6. Chapter Five

Esperanza looked up when the guards opened the door. She expected Richard to be tossed in, but instead blankets and food were tossed in instead. It was real food not gruel and weevil-infested bread. "Where is Richard?" she demanded just before the doors shut in her face. Turning back to the food, she looked at her new helper, a young pregnant woman who was as amazed as Esperanza. 

" _Evlija Rikard_!" praised the woman in Bosnian, revering Dick the only way she could think of. 

"It will only have meaning if we use this wisely. Let us get to work," Esperanza told her and they got to work. Ointments were applied, water and food administered in careful amounts so as not to make anyone sicker, and bandages applied before everyone was wrapped in the thick, warm blankets. Esperanza desperately prayed for Richard and tried not to think what was being done to the brave young man for these luxuries.

Dick was returned nearly five hours later, shivering and in shock. Esperanza rushed to him, talking quickly about the blankets and food but stopped her explanation mid-sentence when she realized he wasn’t listening. He shook like a leaf in the winter wind and he looked as if in a trance. 

He seemed to register her when she pulled him to her. "More later," was all he stuttered out before retreating quickly to a corner bed vacated by a man now strong enough to help the women with the sickly. Esperanza watched as their angel of mercy curled into a ball and his shoulders began to shake. He was crying, but his face was dry and his blue eyes were wide and unseeing.

"What have they done to you, mi amigo?’ she whispered brokenly, but knew there was nothing she could do. Everyone did what they could to stay alive and Richard did his share and more. There was nothing now that Esperanza could do in return. 

The guards returned again the next morning for Dick and later that afternoon some meager first aid supplies were delivered. It wasn’t much but it was better than the nothing they had before. Esperanza said a prayer to Gula Devla, asking the Romany goddess to help Richard in any way she could. 

Dick returned again later that evening, more withdrawn than before. The guards were overly familiar with him and Esperanza began to have suspicions of what sacrifices Dick was making for them. When the morning came, she offered herself in Dick’s place. The guards laughed at her as they drug the young American away, stating that the Colonel had no use for women. Esperanza’s fears were confirmed. Dick was giving his body for blankets, food and medicine. 

The routine continued for several days. One evening Dick was returned very late. Esperanza gave him her blanket, trying to stop his intense shaking. It wasn’t overly cold but she could think of nothing else to offer him succor. Some things could not be healed by food, water, blankets and medicine. Some things destroyed the very soul.

"Esperanza," his weak voice floated to her where she was ministering a couple of children. 

" _Si_?" She sat next to him and smiled encouragingly. 

"Is it helping?" Dick seemed to need confirmation that his sacrifice was making a difference. 

Esperanza had to admit that it was. " _Si_ , but we wish you would not do this." It was half-hearted at best, though true. Many asked where the American was being taken those few days. A few looked on knowingly as the guards came to collect him. Esperanza had been the slowest to catch on. 

Dick relaxed a little and sighed heavily. "I just want to know it’s worth it." 

"He would have done this to you anyway, Richard," she told him sadly. "Just be thankful you are getting something for this humiliation." 

"If I ignore him and think of other things, the time passes." He was lying and they both knew it. 

" _Si_." Esperanza could think of nothing else to say. What could she say? “ _Gracias mi Corazon, muchos gracias_.”

* * *

Alfred answered the door to Wayne Manor and Roy Harper burst through. "Where’s Bruce?" The redhead was disheveled, unshaven and filthy. 

"Hold, Master Roy!" barked Alfred before Roy could continue his mad dash down the hall. "We are having a small charity bash for the quake survivors. Go into the study and I’ll bring him to you. Does this concern Master Dick?" Alfred looked hopeful. 

Roy looked the elderly gentleman dead in the eye. "Yeah and you aren’t gonna like what I found out either." Roy allowed himself to be shown into the study and flopped down on some uncomfortable yet expensive chair from the last century. He stared at a picture of Dick on his high school graduation day. 

Roy remembered that day. He and Ollie had gotten lost in Gotham City traffic and showed up late. Roy graduated the year before and was determined to show Dick a good time. The guy deserved one night on the town courtesy of Roy Harper. He and Dick tore up the town, flirting, laughing and generally having a grand time. It was the closest Roy thought the two had ever been since childhood. He closed his eyes as a mental picture of Dick being dragged across the compound flashed into his mind. 

He stood up and stomped over to the window. What was taking so long? They had to get moving! Steel was already setting fire under various politicians and Wonder Woman was talking with several United Nations council members the Amazons had good relations with to start immediate investigations. Roy hoped they would just move faster. With Bruce Wayne’s influence and money things might move a little faster than the usual bureaucratic snail’s pace. Seven months was a long time and Dick honestly didn’t look like he had much more time left. 

"Roy, what did you find?" Bruce finally spoke. He had been watching Ollie’s adopted son. Roy’s whole demeanor intimated urgency and worry. Though Roy tended to dramatize things on occasion in manner he picked up from Oliver Queen, both Ollie and Roy understood urgency and quick action when it was required. 

"I’ve contacted Sgt. Steel at Checkmate and Wonder Woman’s badgering some UN people. I found him, Bruce," Roy’s words tripped over themselves in an effort to get out. "He looks horrible. God only knows what they’ve done to him or what else they have planned. It looked like pictures of a Nazi camp, except the only prisoners I saw were being taken somewhere or being tortured. They seem to be locked up the rest of the time." 

Bruce stared at Roy for a moment and then crossed the room to the fireplace, leaning against the mantle wearily. "He was alive, though. How bad off was he?" 

Roy moved over to the fireplace as well to face the taller, older man. "He looked starved and there were some open wounds. Probably the usual torture methods, cattle prods, whips, cigarette burns, and the other twisted things done. Beyond that I haven’t a clue. According to Steel there isn’t much hope of getting him out alone. If he vanishes then the rest of the camp’s dwellers may pay the price. These people are sick, Bruce, you never know what they’re going to do." Roy’s exhaustion took its toll and he sat down again. "I just can’t believe I found him. I checked out four camps. God, it was horrible." Roy ran a hand down his face, absently rubbing the light red bristle there. 

Bruce stood up ramrod straight, resolve and determination giving him strength to push past the worry and thoughts of Dick’s abuse. "Okay, I’ll start my campaign as well. Hopefully things will happen quickly enough that it will matter. I want the location of the camps and Dick’s specifically, as well as any other intel you uncovered along the way."   
Roy nodded, his body sagging from the weight of his exhaustion. Bruce looked at the archer critically. "You look tired, Roy. Alfred?" Alfred poked his head through the door, where he obviously was listening in. Bruce didn’t care. Alfred was family. As far as he was concerned Alfred could have been in the room as Roy spoke, but Alfred’s sense of the proprieties stopped the elderly Brit from doing that. "Take Roy upstairs to a room. Get him some food. Roy, shower and get some sleep. Call your daughter." 

Bruce strode from the room and Alfred motioned Roy to stay there a moment. Alfred followed Bruce out the front door. Roy ignored Alfred’s unspoken command and followed them both. "Where are you going, sir?" demanded Alfred. 

"Anywhere but here, Alfred. I have to think and I can’t do it with all these people here." Bruce walked into his garage and opened the door of a Jaguar XJS. "Get rid of them when you can, Alfred, and meet me in the cave when they’ve left." 

Alfred frowned as Bruce’s car squealed away. Roy came around the edge of the garage and looked at the butler/manservant. "He took it better than I thought, Alfred," Roy commented. "You want those people gone?" 

"If you could handle it, Master Roy, I would appreciate it," sighed Alfred. Roy suddenly saw the toll that everything was taking on Alfred. He seemed stoop shouldered, his face gaunt and it looked like he lost a little bit more hair. While everyone else worried themselves to a frazzle, Alfred always stood by to pick up the pieces. No one was ever there to pick up the pieces for Alfred. 

"Don’t worry," Roy winked at Alfred, "Ollie had a sure-fire way to get rid of unwanted party guests." 

"Oh dear," muttered Alfred, following Roy as the younger man strode back into the manor. This he had to see.

* * *

Wally, Garth, Donna and Roy stood silently together as the Justice League talked back and forth with various UN members. The four original Titans grew more agitated as the UN members became less cooperative. 

"Situations like these takes fine-tuned diplomatic talks, Superman," the British diplomat was patronizing in nasal tones. 

" _Oui_ , it may start another war there and that we do not need," agreed the Belgian diplomat. 

Roy listened as they spouted platitudes and hedged around the issue of helping people. Roy never had much use for the bureaucratic system. He looked over at Wally, who was looking serious but his eyes were dancing with laughter. "What’s so funny?" he growled at the speedster. 

"Sorry, I’m still chuckling over how you got rid of those guests. You exclaimed over the rat droppings in the pâté and dumped worms in the punch bowl?" 

Roy half smiled at the memory of the stampede to flee Wayne Manor by Gotham’s upper crust. "I learned it from this Mossad agent I worked with on occasion when I was with Checkmate. While disgusting, it works every time." Wally chuckled again and they both turned their attention back to the still wrangling diplomats. 

Batman was losing patience in the first fifteen minutes and when thirty minutes passed patience wasn’t in his vocabulary. He slammed his hand down on the table to get everyone’s silence and attention. His mouth was open to speak but Roy beat him to it. 

"Let’s put this in perspective, huh?" snarled Roy, fed up himself. His brief earlier humor long since melted away like ice in the desert. "Those people are dying in more horrible ways than listening to your whining and lies, and there are quite a few from countries like American and Great Britain, if I understand how American and British accents sound. Now while you obviously don’t care what happens to people from your own country, I do. So since you, in theory, represent your countries and they in turn are responsible for the well-being of their citizens, why don’t you get off your butts and do something? Or I will, starting with calls to the press including the Daily Planet, Daily Mail, and an old buddy of mine doing foreign correspondence for the Agence France-Presse. At this point I don’t really care about wars and political climates, and to be honest, when it comes to this, neither should you. I care about people and in two months those camps are going to be empty of them, whether it’s because me and mine empty them with the living, or the Svestyans empty them into a mass grave. Got it?" Roy pulled an arrow from his quiver and slammed it into the wood table top. "Thank you for your precious time. We wouldn’t want to stop any of your important work in helping the world like your purported;y paid to do." He turned on his heel and walked out the door. Batman, Donna, Garth, Wally, Green Lantern, Changeling and Mirage followed him out. 

Superman looked at his group, nodded to the stunned diplomats and followed the younger heroes out, Wonder Woman not far behind him. Roy pretty much summed up everyone’s thoughts on the matter, though Superman would have used a little more tact. 

The British diplomat pushed a small button on the table and spoke. "Mary? Get me the Prime Minister immediately and call the General Secretary of the Security Council. There is an important matter that needs immediate discussion." 

Superman heard this and grinned slightly. Ollie would have been impressed.


	7. Chapter Six

Dick crawled from the bed when the guards knocked on the door. Borevsky smiled at him as he dressed. Dick shuddered, blocking his mind from everything that he just did and had done to him.

"Ah, my boy, you just don’t understand, do you?" Borevsky swung his bare legs over the side of the bed and leaned over to almost reverently touched Dick’s shoulder. Dick flinched involuntarily and Borevsky’s eyes narrowed. "I wouldn’t worry, more blankets and medicine have been delivered to your friends and this will be over for you soon." 

Dick looked up. "What do you mean?" he said in a low tone, his voice hoarse. 

"I’ve been casting my eye about and your special treatment will be over soon." Borevsky yawned in boredom. "You need to eat more and stop giving that food to brats or pregnant whores." He flicked a dismissive hand in Dick’s direction. “You are no longer appealing, not that you were much to look at when we began our association but now…” The officer chuckled. “Your spirit is broken. You do not give much pleasure anymore.” 

Dick stiffened and then his mind snapped. He lunged for Borevsky and grasped the surprised man around the throat. The colonel managed to let out a strangled sound to alert the guards before Dick’s fingers tightened and cut off any more sound. It was enough, however. The guards were through the door and pulling Dick away in a flash. "You...you bastard!" panted Dick weakly despite his towering rage. 

"Jealous, are you?" smirked the colonel, gently touching the reddening area where Dick’s fingers dug in. Dick took satisfaction in knowing that there would be heavy bruising. "Our association is over, Mr. Grayson. Do with him as you will, but I don’t want him taken back to his friends. Total isolation." Borevsky waved them away nonchalantly, with Dick cursing as the guards began to haul him out. "A shame. He had a lovely body and a quick mind for a Gypsy," murmured Borevsky, inspecting his bruises in the mirror and slanting the struggling young man a thoughtful glance. 

The whole compound heard Dick’s screams of rage as he was dragged literally kicking and screaming to a small shed behind the main guard barracks. He became quiet when the guards began the usual methods of torture. They whipped his feet, kicked him, beat him and poked him with high voltage electric prods. Nothing elicited another sound from him. While the other guards secured his new home, one guard stayed behind to see what kept his commanding officer so riveted for the past few couple of weeks. 

Esperanza heard the noise and new patients to the sick building whispered that the savior of the Court of Miracles found no more favor in the Colonel’s eyes. She worried about him, but he was never returned. She assumed, with a sinking heart and hope, that his screams were his last bit of defiance. She said a silent prayer for Richard Grayson’s soul and continued on with what he started. The blankets, food and medicine stopped coming. Things became worse all over again, but this time hope and determination was there, if not strong, and it wasn’t as bleak as before. San Ricardo would be remembered by them, Esperanza fervently vowed. 

Dick awoke to another guard’s touch and lay there quietly until the hulking brute finished. His mind was somewhere else and his body refused to cooperate, frustrating the guard a little but not much. Dick’s cooperation wasn’t really required. 

Dick’s mind latched onto the fact that an American had been there sometime before, but he couldn’t gauge time well anymore. Surely it had been long enough that help was on the way? Who came? One of the Titans, Batman, or maybe just some CIA or CBI operative? When he was left alone, Dick curled up in the corner of the shed and wept. Why weren’t they coming for him? Surely they knew he was here? Did they think he was dead? But if that were so, why weren’t they freeing the others? 

His thoughts were jumbled and he tried to think straight but he couldn’t. So he latched onto memories and stayed there. It was safer to remember his parents on the trapeze, Batman and Robin being their dynamic selves, and his days as the leader of the Titans. He imagined Kory holding him, loving him, blocking the reality of the guards’ visits. He remembered various battles he fought and when he was lucid would discover his body growing more bruised, cut and whipped. He no doubt was reenacting these battles against the guards and was being beaten for it. 

He didn’t eat, couldn’t remember sleeping and time moved forward without his noticing its passage.

* * *

Talia looked at her beloved detective with questioning eyes. "Why do you want information on these people, beloved?" she asked. 

"It’s important, Talia, that’s all I ask. I don’t care how you get it to me but if you have anything, I need it." Her detective was haggard and very withdrawn. The quake in Gotham City had no doubt worn him down but she had never seen him so low. A resilient fighter, the methodical man she loved was showing signs of an age that he wasn’t even close to. 

"Very well. I’ll have it sent to you electronically in three hours time, unless I find something of import in this matter that delays it." Talia brushed her hair off her shoulder. "Is this about the quake, my beloved?" She pressed the question but didn’t really expect an answer. 

"No, it’s personal. Batman out." Batman pressed the switch and cut off the transmission. He shuddered to think that he was making a deal with the devil, but in this instance, it may have been worth it. Ra’s Al Ghul’s contacts and information was more wide spread and detailed than anything Batman ever hoped to have. Talia would find something. She still loved him, after all. He felt a small twinge of regret at using her love in such a fashion, but he knew she’d understand. She did it enough to him; she had no room to complain. 

"Is there nothing else to be done?" asked Tim Drake, pushing his mask over his eyes and readjusting his cape slightly for their evening patrol. Batman caught the wear and worry in Tim’s eyes before they disappeared behind the green mask. The boy idolized Dick and had been trying to hide his despair, but Batman knew it was there. No doubt, his own eyes mirrored Robin’s. 

Batman set both hands on the Cray’s console and stared at the floor. "No, not really. We’re blocked by red tape no matter where we turn. Superman has threatened Arsenal if he makes good on his threat. The British ambassador at the UN is making waves as are a few others. The Jewish and Roma communities are in an uproar and yet still nothing happens. I may join Arsenal in his loud protests if something doesn’t happen soon. Dick...." He couldn’t finish the thought but he knew Robin thought it too. It was unspoken between them, as it was between him and Alfred. Dick could be dead. The only ones who staunchly refused to believe Dick could possibly have perished were the Titans and Oracle. 

Donna insisted Dick’s apartment remain rented in his name. Bruce relented, not really feeling up to boxing up his son’s belongings. Batman’s head jolted up. Son. Yes, Dick was his son, for intents and purposes. He raised him when Dick came to live at the Manor and Bruce felt pride in everything Dick accomplished. Even in their rough patches when Bruce was unsure how the relationship would continue, the older man continued to feel protective of Dick. Most considered the two like brothers, but Bruce felt otherwise. Dick indicated on occasion that he felt as Bruce did: father and son. 

He closed his eyes. He lost Jason. He’d be damned if he lost Dick to madmen too. He turned from the Cray and stalked to the Batmobile. "Let’s get the patrol over with and get back. Talia may have found something that can help us." Robin jumped in beside him and the two roared away. 

Alfred stood on the steps of the Batcave, tears cascading down his face. His strength was flagging and he wasn’t sure how more of the brave front the Batman put on he could take.

* * *

Talia came through, sending more information than the Batman cared to have at that moment. He forwarded the bulk of it to Clark Kent, who made sure it was splashed on the front page of the Daily Planet the next afternoon. Over dinner, Bruce pored over the information he did want, covering terrain, number of troops and guards, number of prisoners and the political structure of the government of Yesvetsya at the moment. He wandered down to the cave the next evening and found a message blinking for him on the Cray’s line. It was Talia.   
"  
Was that information what you needed, beloved?" she asked, dressed for the evening meal. She was beautiful, unchanged from the last time he saw her in person. "These camps that are derisively called the Courts of Miracles?" 

"Yes, Talia, and thank you. It means a lot to me." She knew how much pride he was choking down to say those words and what happened next wasn’t going to make it easier. 

"You are welcome, Detective." Ra’s Al Ghul’s visage appeared on the screen behind Talia. "I hope you get him back safe and sound. People like the Yevestyans need to be shown that different doesn’t mean expendable. I also hope you would do the same should it have been Talia." 

Batman frowned at Talia, who gave him a helpless expression. That was an odd observation coming from Ra’s Al Ghul. Nodding formally to the immortal, Batman replied, "You know I would, Ra’s. Take care and thanks again." With a deep sigh, he turned the console off and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps things were looking up somewhat.

* * *

Wally West was hacked. The fastest man alive and he couldn’t do a thing to save the man who helped him so many times. Superman actually threatened him, as well as Roy, Donna, and Garth if the original Titans even breathed in Yevestya’s direction. He stomped around the house with Linda Park, his fiancée, watching him with worried eyes. She too, like Clark Kent and Lois Lane, had been doing exposés on torture victims and the camps in Eastern Europe. With the rest of the media, Linda fed fuel into the fire of growing international outrage and protest. As far as Wally was concerned though, it was a waste of time. No one had been released and negotiations were at a standstill. 

"Wally," Linda touched his arm gently, "will you stop? You’re not helping by throwing tantrums." 

Wally sat down with a huff and glared out of the window. "I don’t see what’s holding us back." 

"You’re not exempt from the law, especially international law. You have to follow that more stringently than you do America’s laws. You know that. If you don’t, God knows what fights you would start. It’s a hotbed of discontent over there, just waiting for an excuse to erupt like a volcano." Linda handed him a glass of tea and he downed it in one gulp. She grimaced. It hadn’t been that good to begin with. "Did you even taste that?" 

"No," was Wally’s absent reply. He stood up and was at the phone in a nano-second. "I’m calling Wayne Manor." He dialed and waited for the ring. "Alfred? Wally West. Yeah, is Bruce there?" Wally frowned as he listened. Then he stiffened. "The hell you say?" Wally shook with anger. "Well, he’s not going without me!" Wally slammed the phone down, kissed Linda and was gone before she could ask “Going where?”. 

Batman was climbing into his plane when Wally screeched to a halt in front of him. "Not without me you’re not!" 

"Don’t," growled Batman, continuing his climb. 

Wally blocked him by sitting in the seat. "You’re taking one of us Titans with you. Like hell you will be tearing up the countryside over there without one of the Titans along!" 

Batman picked him up by the speedster red uniform front and brought Wally nose to nose. The Scarlet Speedster could almost make out the outline of the millionaire’s eyes behind the white coating in the eyeslits. They were tormented. "I’m not debating this. Get out of my way, or you’ll never run faster than a snail again." He tossed Wally out of the cockpit and down to the cave floor. Wally turned his momentum to help slow his fall and landed safely, as Batman knew he would. 

"I’m going!" Wally announced. "I’ll follow you. Shouldn’t be too hard." 

Alfred bashed Wally on the back of the head with a silver tray. The Flash dropped like a rock. "I’m sorry, Master Wallace, but I just can’t allow that." The crusty butler looked up at his surrogate son. "Go ahead, Master Bruce. I’ll watch over the young sir." 

"Alfred?" Alfred looked up again and saw Batman in the cockpit, looking down at him. 

"Yes, Master Bruce?" 

"I love you, old man." The cockpit door slid shut and the plane began to turn for take-off. Alfred smiled and reached down to drag the Flash out of the jet’s engine path. 

“I know you do, Bruce, I know you do.”


	8. Chapter Seven

Using the information Talia and Ra’s Al Ghul gave him, Batman managed to sneak through all the radar and air trafficking devices that littered the globe on his way to Yevestya. The terrain was exactly as the descriptions stated: flat, with hilly patches here and there, and filled with destitute peasant villages more suited to the medieval times than the modern age. Quite depressing, he thought to himself. 

Landing five miles east from the camp Dick was supposedly in, Batman sealed and camouflaged the plane as he vaulted out of the cockpit. The security devices on the Batmobile were duplicated on the plane, which meant it could defend itself. He set out to the west, praying that he could accomplish his mission of finding Dick alive. 

He came upon a towering brick wall that Roy mentioned in his reports to the League and the Titans. Guard towers marked the four corners with the occasional sporadic patrol. A small sign had been nailed to the wall, Court of Miracle #4. Someone around there had a sense of irony, Batman mused, and read Victor Hugo. Batman recognized the reference from Hunchback of Notre Dame. The Court of Miracles was the refuge the Gypsies went to escape persecution. 

Batman began to work his way around the compound, ambushing guards as he went. The guards wouldn’t talk except to confirm that a few Americans were incarcerated, no matter how many bruises and breaks he gave them. Frustrated, Batman checked the security system around the camp’s buildings and found it surprisingly archaic. Why hadn’t Dick just escaped? There had to have been a reason, Batman told himself repeatedly as he slipped through one security hole after another. 

He scouted around, found nothing that could lead him to Dick and started to go back the way he came. A low groan to his right and some laughter inside a small shed drew his attention. He stopped for a moment when rapid fire jabbering started and the door to the shed swung open. One of the guards was zipping his pants as he swaggered out. Batman couldn’t make out the words and stayed silent as he edged along the wall. The guard continued on to what was no doubt his barracks, paying no mind to the darkness and the shadows. 

The jaw line underneath the cowl tightened as he guessed some woman had been raped in there. Since there was no immediate sign of Dick, as he hoped, Batman slipped back out of the compound, dejected but not yet defeated. 

The plane trip home was much more eventful. The plane was stopped in midair and forced to land. 

"I know you just didn’t try to break Dick out of there, Batman," stated Superman, when the Batplane’s cockpit slid open. 

"What do you think?" snapped Batman. "Not that I found a sign of him." 

"Good, negotiations began again this afternoon and it’s been agreed the prisoners will be released next month." Superman half-smiled at Batman’s flabbergasted expression. "And to think, you could have screwed that up." 

"All right, I’m going home." Batman slid the cockpit shut again and took off, Superman following a short distance away. 

"By the way," Superman told Batman, knowing the communication satellite Batman had in the plane was tuned should the Man of Steel start talking, "Wally was not happy with you or Alfred when he woke up. He contacted me and told me what you were doing." 

"I figured he would," responded Batman, almost sounding sulky, but Superman knew better. Batman was worn down to nothing, yet still he kept going. He was worse than the Super Charge Rabbit on the battery commercials. 

"I’m glad you were careful," Superman added. 

"They wouldn’t have noticed me if I walked across the compound in the nude, Superman, that’s how stupid they are." Batman sounded bitter and the conversation stopped there.

* * *

Three weeks later 

"Master Bruce, I wish to go with you." Alfred stood in the doorway of Bruce’s bedroom. The millionaire was tossing a few clothing items into a satchel for the trip to Yesvestya. In Alfred’s hand was one of Dick’s old gym bags from his high school days. The faded Gotham Heights High logo was blazoned across its threadbare surface. "These are some things of Master Dick’s. I doubted he would be in the latest fashion so I took the liberty of packing a few necessary items for him." 

Bruce walked over to Alfred and the two men embraced. "Can you handle seeing him, Alfred? I don’t know if I can." 

"Master Bruce, I have seen the two of you, Master Jason, and Master Tim at your worst. I believe I will survive the experience." Alfred looked determined and Bruce didn’t have the heart to tell him no. Not that the staunch gentleman’s gentleman would listen to him anyway. Alfred raised Bruce and helped Bruce with Dick, Jason and to some degree, Tim. It wouldn’t be the Wayne household without Alfred Pennyworth. 

"Get packed then, Alfred. Let’s bring Dick home." 

“Already packed, Master Bruce. My asking was merely a formality.”

* * *

The Titans weren’t in costume, but in jeans, t-shirts and jackets, along with their serious expressions. Bruce wouldn’t have cared what he wore, but Alfred insisted he be comfortable, so he too was in slacks and a polo. If it weren’t for their clothes, they could have been going to a funeral, so somber were they. 

Almost out of the gates of the United Nations encampment where family members of the incarcerated were staying, Alfred changed his mind. With as much dignity as he could muster, the Englishman climbed from the car they were being transported in and walked back to the tent. Wally figured the old guy was going to have a break down. He knew he was pretty close to it himself. 

Bruce wondered if Alfred was thinking of the Nazi camps the old gentleman helped dissipate during World War II. If so, thinking of one his ‘boys’ in such a situation was obviously not something Alfred could bear after all.

Despite it all, one thing was on everyone’s mind as they stood in the growing dusk waiting on the release of prisoners: Dick was coming home.


	9. Chapter 9

The group sat there in the dirt, crying and despairing over the condition of their friend. Dick sat unmoving in Bruce’s tight embrace. Bruce managed keep his emotions in check, but he looked up as the officers and guards in command of the camp were marched out. A Yevestyan colonel glanced over at the tight circle around Dick and smirked. 

"Well, my little Gypsy boy made it after all. Good-bye, Mr. Grayson," called the Colonel. A few ribald jokes concerning Dick circulated among a small cluster of guards and Bruce’s temper erupted. Obviously they didn't realize that Bruce Wayne spoke their language. 

"Donna," he said, pushing Dick over to her arms.  
She took him, bewildered and watched as the millionaire strode the long distance between them and the guards being led away by UN troops. Roy followed, recognizing the officer he had seen in the camp. Wally and Donna looked on in confusion. Dick watched, his eyes widening with each step Bruce and Roy took toward Colonel Borevsky, and began to wheeze and cough as if he were trying to speak words of protest.

"You want to explain that remark?" snapped Bruce, stopping only when a UN troop pushed out the rifle he carried to block Bruce’s way. 

"Of course!" laughed the Colonel. "He was my little Gypsy boy and a good one for a time. A shame, though, that he has allies like you. You are better off being sympathetic to human beings not trash," sneered the officer. 

"That’s enough outta you!" barked Roy, coming unglued. Only Bruce’s staying hand kept Roy from completely tearing the man apart. 

"Is that so?" Bruce smirked. "Well, the ‘little Gypsy boy’ is going to eat better than you, smell better than you and have all the luxuries you’ll never have. So I’d think about that ‘little Gypsy boy’ when you rot in prison." 

Colonel Borevsky laughed. "So what tricks does he perform for you, sir, that you reward him so well?" The colonel leaned forward conspiratorially. "If you hit the spot right above his buttocks, he moans like a whore." 

The UN trooper growled something extremely impolite and shoved the man to the ground. Roy managed a good kick to the stomach before he was pushed away. Bruce paled before he turned on his heel and walked back to where the other still sat. Dick’s eyes watched in wary disbelief as Bruce stood over him a minute and then smiled briefly.

“What an ass,” snarled Roy a few steps back, glaring daggers at the Colonel being hauled to his feet, still smirking. “I know an assassin for hire if anyone cares to contact her.”

Bruce gave it serious consideration for five seconds and then shook his head. “Not helping, Roy,” rumbled Bruce. He continued to watch the play of emotions over Dick’s face. 

“He won’t hurt you or anyone else again, Dick. I promise.” Bruce emphasized the final word strongly. Dick knew Bruce kept those kind of promises. Dick only looked away with shame. Bruce’s jaw tightened. There was time enough to assuage away the shame, all the time in the world.

The UN and Red Cross medics helped Donna and Wally bring Dick to the med unit for immediate health checkout. Garth shook with barely suppressed fury at the sight of his friend but steeled himself to not show it. They cleaned Dick up and doctored his immediate wounds. Dick was thankfully sank into unconsciousness a short time into it but he still twitched in pain as the warm water washed over him and the medicine began its work. 

“How long has it been since he felt safe enough to sleep?” whispered Donna, her eyes nearly glowing with her motherly concern.

“A very long time,” murmured Garth, his own purple-hued orbs glittering.

"Can we take him home or does he have to remain in UN care?" asked Bruce hoarsely. The Titans noted the billionaire had been intensely withdrawn since the confrontation with the prison camp’s head officer. Roy’s glowers and mutterings occasionally caused Donna to admonish him to silence when Dick flinched in his deep slumber at the tone of Roy’s subdued ranting.

The doctor who treated Dick looked up from a little girl likely only 6 years old and staring blankly into nothingness. The doctor shrugged. "Most who can will give witness depositions to the UN council and then do the best healing that they can, Mr. Wayne. I would suggest that as soon as you can you contact Survivors International or Amnesty International concerning rehabilitation. They can give you the best advice on how to proceed. Personally, I’d not only contact them, but leave him in their capable care. They are trained to care for people like these and will be able to give the best care possible." 

Bruce nodded. Donna, Garth, Wally and Roy looked around. Roy’s cellphone beeped and he snatched it from his belt. After a few terse words and listening to the other end, Roy ended the call and a slow, sad smile spread over his wan features. "Well, the other camps are being broken up as well," Roy said with a triumphant ring. "Dick is back and with the right work, he’ll be close to his old self." 

"Doubtful on that last one, Roy," murmured Garth, smoothing Dick’s wet hair back from the unconscious man’s face. "It’s going to be hard on all of us. Are you really going to turn him over to Survivors International, Bruce?" 

"No." Bruce looked down at Dick. "He’ll stay with Alfred and I. I’m not letting him out of my sight for a very long while." 

"Can we go now?" Donna looked emotionally spent. She had done most of the crying for the group. "I don’t think we can do any more good here and Alfred will be worrying."  
Bruce picked up his eldest son in his arms and began to walk to the vehicle assigned to take them back to the family tent complex. He was followed closely by the original Titans that were Dick’s family almost as long as Bruce and Alfred. They were all going to be the family Richard Grayson would need for the long process of healing. 

A Spanish woman looked at Dick from a different med unit but no one seemed to notice the sadness in her eyes. She whispered brokenly as medication was applied to her slash marks, " _Vaya con dios, San Ricardo de La Corte de los Milagros Numero Cuatro_." 

"I made it," Dick murmured against Bruce’s chest. 

Bruce looked down at the bony face that held a slight resemblance to the exuberant young man Bruce had taken so many years of immense pride in. "What is it I always tell you?" he whispered to Dick. 

Dick Grayson smiled and tried to chuckle wryly but wheezed instead. "It’s not how much you live but how much you live through."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes regarding non-English languages are mine. I think I used an online translation program for them. If anyone speaks Bosnian or Spanish and wishes to correct me, I am very open to correction.
> 
> Update 03/21/19: Many thanks to Lwoorl for correcting my Spanish. Corrections have been made per her recommendations!


End file.
